Arsenal V Palace
Who would have thought it Tony Pulis, falling out with a chairman, an agreeable chap like that. Tony, the bastion of total football that he is, left his club, in the shit when, just two days before the kick off the season he done one. Early bird rumour mills are saying that he was the manager of the entire club and not just the coach, therefore, everyone within a six mile radius of his football club had to do exactly what the f**k he wanted. They didn’t, so he got in a right fu**in’ huff and pissed off.
Good, he’s a dreadful human being, the kind that latches onto an almost dead animal, revives it ever so slightly when people have started to walk away in tears thinking the poor animal is a goner and then… MESSIAH PULIS, HE’S SAVED A DEAD ANIMAL. REJOICE REJOICE!
This is what the baseball cap wearing, shouty, nasty bastard does. He kept a shit footballing team called Stoke in the Premier league, so he must be a God, they said. Forgetting that the football club in question had already, a proud past. But Tony scared everyone into thinking that a club like Stoke cannot progress any further, without his guidance, they would simply fall and die. He had that rather desperate and extremely depressing part of Britain believing him for years. Then they turned around and said NO MORE, THIS IS DIRE, DREADFUL FOOTBALL. Tony was proper pissed off, muttering “Just you wait you stupid c**ts, just you fuc**ng wait”. Well we are still waiting. Although Stoke certainly have not turned into Ajax overnight, their football has improved and guess what, they are still alive.
Palace brought in the man known to the rest of the footballing world as the c**t, and he did what it says on the man’s tin. He kept them up, not only that, they look dead and buried before he arrived. His miracle working had continued. Now the good people of that rather desperate and extremely depressing part of south east London believe they are doomed without him. They must remember, he was there to keep you in the premier league, he is very good at that. If he had stayed much longer, mass suicides would have started to occur all over sunny Norwood.
What kind of fan base believes that a bloke who resembles the loud, gold chain wearing, overly opinionated at bbqs, ever so slightly UKIP copper that lives next door to you in a gated community is the answer to your dreams anyway. South London, no ambition!
So First game of the season was a derby. Palace looked relaxed for much of the first half and took the lead through Hangeleand. Who, let’s face it should now be in his third season for us. The usual happened, media bullshit panic. Talk Sport co commentator, Ray Wilkins (still alive and oh, still talking a lot of shit too) was banging on about the stadium for a bit, then he went on about Wilshire being Liam Brady. But then Wilshire went down softly for a foul and Brady would never had done that, so now Wilshire was just Jack Wilshire again, poor love. Palace look good blah, blah, blah, blah.
And the rest of the crap that came out of his gob was mainly patronising waffle against Palace, really. They are a premier league team, meaning they are one of twenty of the top teams in England playing against another one, they may, God forbid, score a goal. Seriously, Wilkins is a twa*t, a man who has played the amount of football for the amount of clubs that he has, should be able to talk with a little bit of know how about the beautiful game? Anyway, Koscielny sored in the 46th minute and Ramsey scored in 91st minute. We won, bosh. Lucky? Probably. Who fuckin’ cares. First game of the season, London derby, three points, end of.